


Fourth Drink Instinct

by indigo_carter



Series: Supernatural Smut [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_carter/pseuds/indigo_carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Hi, firstly, LOVE LOVE LOVE your blog!! :D secondly, I was wondering if you could write a Sam Imagine where the reader is in love with Sam and adores him more than anything or anyone else in the world so one night, when she sees Sam hitting on another girl, she begins to drink and ends up super drunk. She accidently confesses her love for Sam and they end up sleeping together (roughly I might add like Dom!Sam xD) and the next morning shes afraid that Sam wont feel the same? Thank You so much! (anon request)<br/>100 kinks: #5, #81, #86<br/>Character: Sam<br/>Author: Frankie (spnsmutscribe)<br/>Reader gender: Female<br/>Word Count: 1,300+<br/>Warnings: Alcohol, alcohol-induced sex (reduced capacity for consent), a little angst (but nothing to get your panties in a twist over!)<br/>A/N: This has demanded to be a multi-part fic. I really hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fourth Drink Instinct

“Let’s go out.” You’d just finished a horrendous hunt, and Dean had itchy feet. He was bobbing by the door, gesturing wildly to try and get you and Sam on board with his plan. “Let’s go out and drink until we forget that hexenbeist’s face.” He shuddered and your stomach clenched with sympathy. The wrecked face of an unmasked hexenbeist wasn’t a pleasant sight. “C’mon guys, stop being such babies.”

“Dean, I have a headache.” Sam glanced up from the book he was reading, legs stretched out on the bed. “I don’t want to drink and I don’t want to see your attempt at flirting.”

“C’mon, man. I swear I won’t pick anyone up.” You bounced off the sofa, scooped up your jacket and stood next to Dean.

“If you’re not pulling your sex-god impression, I’m in.” You grinned at him and looked at Sam. “Could be fun, Sam. Just the three of us and a few beers, maybe a pizza?” He glanced at you, his eyes full of affection, and your stomach swooped.

“Just one drink.” He clambered to his feet as he spoke and you danced towards him, his jacket in one hand, your own in the other.

***

Four drinks later, your head was spinning and you found yourself regretting not eating the pizza before starting to drink. You also found yourself regretting coming out, and regretting even more bringing Sam along. He’d started reluctantly, but was soon matching Dean drink for drink, and was currently employed in flirting with every single woman at the bar as he got your glass refilled. As one particularly attractive girl started rubbing – literally rubbing – herself against him, and he failed to push her away, you surrendered to the nausea flooding your stomach and made a break for the toilet. Rather than doing the sensible thing and calling a taxi to head back to the bunker, you decided to keep drinking until you forgot your feelings for the giant moose currently fondling the woman who was so much smaller and prettier and probably nicer to talk to than you. Self-loathing made your heart clench, and you stormed out of the bathroom on a beeline for the bar. Downing shot after shot, you didn’t notice the pointed stares and muffled giggles. Blocking your environment from your perceptions, you focussed solely on the effects of the alcohol thinning your blood and slowly but surely ridding you of your inhibitions. When a large hand landed on your shoulder, you shrugged it off and signalled the barman for a refill.

“Ignore her, has she paid her bill?” It was Sam’s voice, and the nausea returned. Apparently the barman nodded, because Sam’s hand slid down your back and wrapped securely around your waist, guiding you from the barstool. “C’mon, Y/N. Time to go home.”

“No.” You’d meant to sound emphatic, but it came out childish and loud. “Why’d I wanna – why’d I wanna come home wi’ you Sam?” You stumbled and slurred your words, pulling weakly away from him. “I wanted you to come out an’ have a drink wi’ me an’ Dean an’ have some time together and you start hitting on other girls.” Your voice rose to a shriek and you pulled away from him with a little more vigour. “So why’d I wanna come home wi’…wi’ the man who just broke my heart?” There was no way you’d have ever told him what had actually got you upset if you hadn’t been drunk. Suddenly you realised you were standing in the middle of a packed bar, having a very loud face off with someone who already stood out like a sore thumb due to his height, and blood suffused your face. “I’m going home. On my own.” You muttered, yanking your hand from Sam’s and wobbling to the door, tears starting to pour down your cheeks.

You couldn’t have taken more than ten unsteady steps across the carpark when his hands caught hold of your biceps and forced you to stop.

“Broke your heart? Y/N, what?”

“You heard me,” you muttered sullenly, the cold air cutting through your drunkenness and returning you to a semblance of normality for a moment. “I kinda thought we could just hang out tonight and then you let that other girl rub all over you and…it hurt.” You shook your head and turned away again, intending on hailing the first taxi you saw. 

“Y/N, wait. There’s a taxi on its way, just…stop.”

“What do possibly have to say that will make this any better?” You glared at him and pulled away – yet again.

“I only did that because I got sick of seeing you laughing and joking with Dean all the time.” He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But I never flirt with Dean! I never rub myself all over him, and I never make you think that I want him over you.” Your petulant tone returned as you peered up at him.

“You never make me think you want me in the first place!” He roared back, and you blinked in surprise.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. ‘Course I bloody want you, Y/N, you’re talented and beautiful and funny, and any man would have to be fucking stupid to not want you.”

“Don’t talk crap, Sam.”

“I’m not. Just…let’s get home?” He ducked his head to peer into your face, then wrapped his big hand around your waist again. “This might be easier over a cup of coffee.”

“Might be easier after the hang over,” you mumbled, resting your head against his shoulder as the carpark began to spin.

***

Paying the cabbie, you began to walk up the path to the bunker, but halfway there your knees turned to jelly and you slumped to your knees on the ground. Helpless tears welled up in your eyes until Sam arrived next to you, pulling you into his arms and lifting you effortlessly into the air. When you next opened your eyes, you were in the kitchen of the bunker, and Sam was bustling around with the cafetiere, grinding fresh coffee beans and fiddling with the kettle. He plopped a steaming hot mug of strong, milky coffee in front of you and sat down next to you, his own mug cradled in his hands.

“Y/N…” he started carefully, “you’ve gotta know, I’ve been crazy about you since we picked you up on that hunt…” he stared at the steam rising from his mug. “I just didn’t think you liked me.”

“What, are you blind?” You couldn’t help the startled exclamation which slipped past your lips. “Sam, everyone who knows me knows I’m crazy about you. They don’t even need me to tell them, normally. They get it from how I say your fucking name, for god’s sake.”

“Oh.” The pair of you fell silent, sipping your coffees and digesting events.

“We’ve been a right pair of tits, Sammy.” You said it resignedly on a sigh and glanced up to find him looking at you with a slight smile on his lips.

“We have…want to make up for lost time?” You watched his grip on his mug shift in preparation to put it down and couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face.

“Go on, then.” Sliding your mug across the table, you caught his hand in yours, tugging him until he stood up and then rising on your tiptoes and using his bicep for balance. Looking him steadily in the eye, you leant forward until you nose rested against his. “Mr Winchester, I’m going to kiss you now.” He hummed deep in his chest, and closed the distance between you. He took his time, carefully mapping your lips with his, manipulating you in ways you’d never known in the ways he pursed and relaxed his lips, the flicks and licks of his tongue along the seam of your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth to his. To begin with, it felt fairly tame and innocent, but as his hands worked over your body, tangling forcefully in your hair and keeping you entirely still; his second hand looping around both your wrists and holding them at the small of your back.

“Go to your room, Y/N,” he growled, his hazel eyes nearly black with lust. “I’ll be there in five minutes and I want you lying on the bed in nothing but your underwear. Clear?” Heat rushed through you as you nodded shakily.

“Yes, Sam.”

“Call me ‘sir’, Y/N.”

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
